


raise anchor

by 99yeon



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of a Suicide Attempt, jihyo lives on a boat, need to get this out of my drafts, their ages are reversed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 09:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99yeon/pseuds/99yeon
Summary: jihyo lives on a boat and nayeon washes up on her shores.





	raise anchor

**Author's Note:**

> hello! so. this fic actually means quite a bit to me. i started writing it last year on vacation in hong kong as i was sitting by a bay and was just... filled with emotion. there are mentions of a suicide attempt and mental illness in this fic, so i'd advise against reading it if it would affect you. this has been in my drafts for almost a year at this point and i've previously uploaded it but got dissatisfied because of the pacing / the writing / how many kudos i got. but tbh it doesn't matter!! i'm going to write for my own enjoyment from now on and anything else is a bonus, so i'm just uploading this!! there's more to be desired here and i'd definitely love to write more in this au but i think i left the ending satisfactorily open. hope ya like it!

there are frightened knocks against the hull of her boat, sudden and jolting her from the depths of a restless sleep. clanging, metal against metal, layered with something else. something different, nothing like anything jihyo has ever heard before, not in her months aboard this ship. 

it’s nothing natural, receding and swelling with the lapping of the waves, still uneven. jihyo doesn’t like the sound of it, and she scrambles to her feet, the floorboards warm against the soles of her feet. 

it’s dark out. she can’t see anything, even with her eyes quickly acclimating to the darkness of her cabin. she ascertains that it’s the middle of the night with help of the clock on the wall, the stars still bright and domineering. jihyo slaps her hand along the wall before she finds her flashlight, pushing the swing door open to make her way onto deck.

the knocking is getting less frequent now, and for a moment jihyo thinks she might be able to put it down to her imagination. but it’s still there, coming back just as she’s ready to head back in. it bothers her, and she leans over the side of her boat, shining the flashlight down. the beam of the light is weak against the inky blackness of the waves. 

for a few moments - nothing. 

then there’s another knock, the sound jihyo realizes much later is a human head rocking against the hull of her boat. then there’s a face emerging from the murky depths, eyes closed. soundless, mouth trying to hit the surface, too busy trying to survive to make a sound. textbook drowning case. 

jihyo’s grip on the flashlight falters, but she fights the nausea, turning around and grabbing the life ring. it’s heavy, jihyo’s arms hurt when she hefts it into her arms, but she’s too charged to care. peeking over the side again, she tosses the thing into the sea. as an afterthought, she throws the ladder over the side and jumps in. 

ice cold. it’s so, so cold, and jihyo’s limbs freeze up when she comes into contact with the water, the initial shock taking a shameful amount of time to get over before she entangles her arm with the life ring. she kicks out, shivering and forcing herself to keep her mouth closed as she makes her way to the drowning person. man, woman, she can’t tell, not with the moon as her only light source. the waves are relentless, minimizing her best efforts to swim fast, and she grits her teeth.

hands punch out and make contact with her shoulders, and jihyo struggles with the life ring, the hard plastic weighing her down and rendering her strength futile. for a moment, she’s terrified that the drowner is going to bring her down with them in their panicked efforts to stay alive, and pulls them close. arms wrap around her back, and jihyo struggles to get the person on the life ring. 

water floods up her nose, acidic and burning and it  _ hurts. _ jihyo coughs, writhing away from the steely grip of the other person. she knows better than to open her mouth to tell them that they’re safe, that they can’t grab her or they’ll both drown, so she settles for rubbing hard circles into their back. she’s still in the water up to her neck, and she channels the last of her energy into swimming to the ladder, with the cord to the life ring wrapped around her palm.

she grabs onto the ladder’s first rung like it’s her lifeline (because it is), and starts climbing. her ears unclog themselves, salty water draining, giving way to another unpleasant sound - loud sobs and coughs from the person on the life rung. jihyo presses her lips together in a straight line, focusing her strength into pulling herself up. the cord to the life ring is forgotten for the time being.

she throws herself over the side, landing on her back and panting. she stares up at the night sky, the half-moon twinkling at her in all its might, as if reminding her of the waves it commands. she pulls herself back up, looking over the side. the other person is drawn into herself, gripping onto the life ring and sobbing.

“grab the ladder!” jihyo shouts, wind rushing through her hair. “reach out. just reach out.” 

there’s no indication that they heard her, and she shakes her head, dipping her body halfway down the side. the hull of her ship is cold against her arm, but she doesn’t dare complain. she extends her hand, trembling, raising her voice, “please, just grab me. i’ll pull you up.”

the waves rumble their dissent. hungry. waiting. furious at being cheated out of a victim.

“please!” 

shaky fingers reach out for jihyo, brush against her own. they’re slippery and weak and not nearly enough, but jihyo can work with this. she doesn’t know who this person is, but she knows that they’re making this effort right  _ now _ . that’s all that matters. she has to put aside other thoughts and inhibitions and push forward. 

_ thank you _ , she whispers soundlessly, firming her grip and pulling them up. the person is light, and jihyo pulls them onto deck with much fuss. she rolls as the person lands on the deck with a thump, gasping and shivering, and takes a moment for herself to survey the situation.

“a-are you okay?” she asks, more out of residual panic than actual concern, more for her own sake than theirs. she squints by the light of the moon. it’s a girl. and even in the dim light, jihyo knows that she’s young. she looks about jihyo’s age, even younger by the way she’s shivering and crying, and jihyo’s heart pangs with an age-old feeling. she’s fragile, and god, jihyo is so pained.

she wants to ask her what happened, what she was doing in the middle of the night in the sea, but a part of her already knows.

jihyo goes to get a towel.

-

she doesn’t realize how hard she’s shaking till the chocolate powder’s knocked out of the spoon. she stares down at her hands, calloused and rough, willing them to stop trembling. she has no reason to be afraid. she’s back on the boat, she’s safe, and the girl in her bed is supposed to be the frightened one here. this is her turf. 

and yet… jihyo doesn’t want to think about it, but the experience has left her more than shaken. she came too close to the brink to be comfortable, out of her league in an arena she thought she’d long conquered.

the hot water bubbles, popping at the surface, and jihyo snaps out of her momentary reverie, spooning powder into the mug and mixing. the smell is sweet, comforting, and she cradles the mug in her hands, exhaling at the warmth. she can only hope to bring the same measure of comfort to the girl.

“here you go.” 

jihyo straightens awkwardly, surveying the girl in front of her. she has a towel wrapped around her, eyes glassy and wet, and still hasn’t said a word. 

jihyo’s suddenly very aware of her own set of wet clothes. she’d dashed straight for the hot chocolate right after helping the girl bundle up and lending her a set of clothes, but the cold is settling in, and jihyo knows she should get herself changed before she catches a cold. still… she’s reluctant to leave the girl alone when she’s this vulnerable-looking.

the girl looks up, eyes wide as she sips the hot chocolate. it must burn her lips, but she doesn’t start, only blowing before sipping again. a small ring of chocolate forms around her mouth, and she licks it off hungrily. jihyo smiles. 

“thank you.” 

jihyo affords her a smile. “no problem.”

the girl smiles back at her, uncertain, as if she doesn’t believe that this is real. god, what exactly has she been put through? she speaks, and her voice is quiet, ashamed, “what do i have to do for you?”

fuck. 

“rest.”

“but i-”

“don’t worry about it,” jihyo soothes, nodding encouragingly. she feels tired, overwhelmingly so. “rest now. we can talk in the morning, okay?”

“i’m sorry,” the girl whispers, looking small and haunted, shrinking into herself. her nails dig into her lap. jihyo wonders if it would be appropriate to pull them away. “i don’t even know your name and i…” she trails off.

“it’s jihyo. park jihyo. you don’t owe me anything.”

“nayeon,” the girl offers meekly, eyes shying away from jihyo’s, “i’m nayeon.”

jihyo relaxes. she didn’t even know she was tense. 

“sleep, okay? i’ll be here the whole night.”

nayeon nods, though she’s still hesitant and looks as if she wants to say something but can’t. she looks like a cornered animal, jihyo thinks. they are similar in that respect. 

(she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, but looking at nayeon dredges up insecurities, memories she would rather keep hidden. thoughts she thought she left behind when she sailed all those months ago. she’s unsure how to go on from here. it’s new, and jihyo has never liked new.) 

“can you,” nayeon hiccups, blinking, “can you stay here with me?”

there’s an unspoken  _ please  _ tacked on behind it, whether out of not wanting to sound too desperate or just because nayeon isn’t that type of person going unsaid, but jihyo understands. 

she settles on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking with her weight. nayeon visibly relaxes at jihyo’s movements. her hair is still sticking to her forehead as she scoots backwards on the mattress, but she doesn’t make a move to pull it away from her eyes. it must not matter to her, not right now. 

nayeon’s limbs unfold clumsily, and she leans against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut. 

jihyo watches her fall asleep like this, nayeon’s breaths evening out with a soft slackening of her limbs, and reminds herself that this is real. 

-

she wakes up with a stiff neck and tired eyes, and it takes all of five minutes staring at the ceiling before jihyo remembers that she isn’t alone in the room. 

“morning,” she greets gruffly, running a hand through her hair and silently bemoaning the ache that’s already begun to creep up the back of her neck from sleeping on the floor. that’s going to be bothering her for the rest of the day, she’s sure, and the prospect of lying back and down and sleeping the rest of the day away (on the mattress, if nayeon doesn’t mind too much) is all too attractive. what’s a daily routine in the face of a stiff neck anyway? 

but nayeon is staring at her, legs folded, hands in her lap and eyes earnest, head cocked to the side. jihyo can’t bring herself to do that, she really can’t. a fierce protective instinct crawls up her spine, and takes her aback because it’s the exact type of responsibility she’d made a point to evade in the first place. there’s something about nayeon, she decides. 

“good morning,” nayeon murmurs. sleepy, soft, sinking. jihyo can tell that isn’t her normal tone. nayeon’s voice sounds like she’s used to addressing rooms of people at a time, feels strange being toned down like this. jihyo is curious, but now isn’t the time. later, maybe — there’s nothing set in stone for the future. 

as far as she’s concerned, they have the rest of time. 

she doesn’t know what to say, if not some manner of brazen question, so she defaults to the least invasive thing, “slept well?”

nayeon’s hair falls over her face when she shakes her head. she pauses, sweeps it out of her face, and ducks away from jihyo’s smile. 

“not really.” she does not elaborate, and jihyo does not probe. 

her tongue is dry and heavy in her mouth when she nods, “okay.” 

nayeon watches jihyo get off the bed, cross the remaining length of the small cabin and push her hand against the door. sunlight drips into the room lazily, shedding light on the mug from last night. it’ll be warm today, jihyo notes with a sigh, following the previous day’s lead of cloudless skies and sweltering heat. there’s only so much her boat can protect her from before it turns unbearable.

she wonders if nayeon will be able to take the heat. for that matter, she hopes that nayeon can handle being on board. it took jihyo weeks before she could stop throwing up from the persistent rocking of the boat, and months to move with the motions of the boat, not against them. nayeon’s going to end up tripping a lot.

she looks back at the girl, expression softening but tone remaining matter-of-fact, “i’m going to get breakfast ready and tidy the ship up a bit. you’re free to come along if you want, or you can stay here and sleep and join me whenever you want. or not at all - i don’t have a preference.”

nayeon doesn’t need another directive for her to scramble off the bed and follow jihyo. 

(jihyo has to hide her smile.) 

-

nayeon falls into step behind jihyo like a shadow. she ducks out of sight when jihyo turns her head too fast, frightened and startled, and only creeps out at jihyo’s gentle persuasion. it’s not her fault, though, and it seems to give her comfort, so jihyo stops pointing it out, letting nayeon trail after her like a lost puppy as she goes about preparing for the day’s voyage. if you could call sailing northwards without any other plans a voyage.

and really, nayeon tries. she tries to make herself useful, watching jihyo diligently before making a valiant attempt to emulate her actions, but jihyo quickly puts a stop to it. nayeon has a coil of rope wrapped around her wrists which tightens dangerously when she moves, and she looks up at jihyo, a helpless whimper escaping her lips. 

jihyo sighs. “don’t do that.” 

nayeon’s head shoots up, and the wrench clatters out of her hand. her lips are parted, as if ready to utter an apology to jihyo, but jihyo holds up a hand. she’s suddenly tired, and she doesn’t want nayeon to stoke the pissed off fire that’ll keep building as long as someone else is messing in her stuff. 

“it’s fine. don’t worry about it.” she leaves out the part where nayeon’s disrupting her peace. everything on this ship, even its repairs, was designed to only require one person’s efforts. just like how jihyo intended, just like how she likes it. she was never going to make this journey with another person, and nayeon has thrown a wrench in her plans. no negotiations. 

nayeon bites her lip, looking ashamed and small, “i’m sorry.” 

she waves it off. she wants to say more when nayeon looks disproportionately upset with herself, but jihyo holds back. words have always just made things more complicated for her. 

“just rest, okay? you don’t have to do anything.” 

a beat. she breathes in, and nayeon breathes out. 

“please don’t argue with me on this,” she supplements. 

nayeon nods, and sits. 

-

it’s not like she’s sure what to make of this entire…  _ thing _ . no survival manual has information on how to deal with someone suddenly appearing on your ship, which leaves jihyo in uncharted waters (pardon the pun). it’s unfamiliar, and she supposes she will just have to get used to it, learn as she goes along. 

it can’t be too bad, she reasons. nayeon is mostly co-operative, if a little quiet. she can just keep going and stop trying to think of conversation starters. and certainly, she can toss aside the questions that still float around in her head from time to time. things like  _ what were you doing so far out from shore?  _ or  _ how could you have swum so far out _ ? the answers aren’t going to be something she can respond appropriately too, which is just going to make things painful for both of them. 

the next few days are a matter of getting settled in. jihyo stays sleeping on the floor, and nayeon on the mattress and thrashing around at night. (she soaks through the pillows and sheets with her tears frequently, and jihyo is thankful for the raging sun to air-dry them, even if means that she’s taking frequent hops into the water to cool herself off. she would ask nayeon on these trips, but the girl is more content to watch jihyo carefully.) 

it occurs to her that nayeon is probably too afraid to ask her about her plans, not that she doesn’t have any plans, and jihyo speaks over the warm dinner they share. 

“is there anything you want to do?” 

nayeon’s hands shake as she looks up with that deer-in-headlights look jihyo has come to know as the default expression nayeon takes on when she’s spoken to. 

“what do you mean?” 

jihyo chews thoughtfully. nayeon’s right. what  _ did  _ she mean? 

“i mean,” she swallows the fish. she’s always been told not to talk with her mouth full. doesn’t remember by who, but she feels they were important once. “that we’re in the middle of the ocean, and you probably have a life you need to get back to. so i’m asking if you want me to turn around and bring you back to wherever you came from.” 

“ah,” nayeon’s eyes clear, and she shakes her head insistently. there’s none of the shy, childlike detachedness characteristic of her now, and jihyo notices that she’s gripping her silverware so tight her knuckles flare white. she shakes her head, “no.” 

“if you’re sure, then i don’t mind,” jihyo says gently, rubbing nayeon’s knuckles till the girl relaxes.  _ relax  _ is an overstatement - the look of wild abandon in nayeon’s eyes still burns, and she only lets go of the silverware marginally, as if it’s an anchor nayeon cannot let raise. “you can stay with me.” 

“i don’t want to go home,” nayeon whispers.

jihyo’s heart pangs, and she squeezes nayeon’s bunched-up fist. 

“i know how that feels.” 

-

nayeon is twenty-two, three years younger than jihyo. she is (was) a student at a good university. a law major, because her passion had been the justice system and arbitration. good student. great personality excellent grades. had been keeping up with the curriculum, but barely. she’d lost steam halfway through the programme and stopped going to class, shut herself in her dorm and broke her phone because she didn’t want to deal with more voices. hated the thought of staying, always liked the beach, and then— 

nayeon had planned to die that night. 

this is all information that nayeon lets slip out during the course of the day with jihyo. jihyo sticks to her resolution and doesn’t probe, only interrupting to clarify what she hears and to tell nayeon to slow down because she’s speaking too fast. nayeon is jumpy, nervous and touches her neck when she’s uncomfortable. (she’s uncomfortable the whole time.) 

she has various physical tics that give away what she’s thinking, and jihyo gets used to them quickly. nayeon rubs her hands together often, even when the sun’s scorching down on the ship and they’re both dripping with sweat. she chews on her bottom lip when she doesn’t know what to say. she flinches when jihyo raises her hand. 

and she can never make eye contact.

the curiosity is killing her, but jihyo chastises herself for that. nayeon isn’t anywhere near confident with her yet, and jihyo knows that she has to approach this carefully. in all respects, nayeon is still a stranger to her, and it doesn’t feel right to push like this. if nayeon will tell her more one day, then she will. and if she won’t… 

that’s not jihyo’s decision to make. 

“i was so scared,” nayeon tells her in a hoarse whisper, fingers digging into jihyo’s shirt as jihyo peers through a pair of binoculars. for how much she hates being touched, she likes touching, and jihyo doesn’t have a big enough opinion on the matter to object to nayeon clinging onto her. “i knew i was going to die.” 

this is the second time nayeon’s told her this. she must get paranoid that jihyo can’t hear her and repeats some things for her benefit, some for jihyo’s, mostly to reassure herself that she’s real. jihyo nods in response, humming as she turns the binoculars to fixate on something else on the horizon. 

the grip on her shirt tightens, and nayeon lets a soft sigh into jihyo’s ear. needy. frightened. nayeon is as fragile as she looks. jihyo is determined to protect her. 

-

they play cards. 

it turns out that nayeon is pretty good at this. she beats jihyo at every game jihyo can think of, and then comes up with her own games to beat jihyo at, leaving jihyo feeling a little too helpless and ego-bruised for her liking. 

she frowns at an entirely too smug nayeon. nayeon’s sipping from a cup with a cocky smirk on her face, eyes crinkled and shiny. her perfect hand of cards lays discarded on the table in between the two of them. jihyo thinks she would’ve throttled nayeon if not for the table, actually - she hadn’t realized how unbearable nayeon could get about winning. 

it’s nice, though. she won’t deny that. gives them both something to think about other than the monotonous lapping of the waves against the boat, the compass whose needle stays bound the same direction no matter the time of day. something less uniform, more up to chance, even if the odds are skewed against her. 

she likes the way nayeon laughs when she’s certain she’s about to win, but she does prefer the horrified look the younger girl gets on her face when jihyo outsmarts her. which has happened once in fifteen games. 

“up for another round of blackjack?” nayeon teases. “it can be first to twenty-three, since you won’t stop asking for more cards.”

jihyo rolls her eyes, “oh, sure. win one time and you’re suddenly the grandmaster.” 

“fourteen times,” nayeon amends, with that same smirk, and jihyo begrudgingly laughs along with her. it may suck to lose, but seeing nayeon smile is nice for both of them. 

-

for all her fragility, nayeon gets more helpful as the days pass.

thankfully. 

she learns how to properly raise a mast, how to barter and trade with the merchants at ports when they dock for more supplies (and occasionally, how to, with the help of jihyo’s baseball bat, fend off would-be thieves who try to take advantage of two women in an open ship), how to wrangle a coil of rope efficiently and correctly. (she only gets tied up once more before getting used to how to use it.) 

she’s good company to have around the ship, and jihyo feels like she’s had a burden lifted off her shoulders - the workload hasn’t been exactly halved, but comfortably reduced. the guarded defensiveness jihyo’s always had in her dissipates a little. but not completely. 

she stays sleeping on the floor. against the floorboards and away from nayeon. she doesn’t take it personally, respects the distance nayeon keeps, though she would prefer not to wake up with a stiff neck. and possibly would be more than happy to consider a swap. 

“nayeon?” she calls, stepping onto the deck, eyes still bleary from sleep. she’d woken up to nayeon gone, and any fears she had are assuaged by the sight of nayeon sitting on the edge of deck, her legs dangling off the side, a map in her lap. she doesn’t recognize the map as any of her own, and deduces that nayeon must’ve snagged it when they stopped at a port for a refuel. she’s coming into her own now, and has developed an interest in maps and diagrams of the world’s seas. “nayeon, you okay?” 

nayeon perks up, and she fixes jihyo with an odd sort of look, squinting a little because the sun’s in her eyes. her eyes are shining. “yeah.” 

“okay,” jihyo decides, relenting, figuring that nayeon can’t do much on the deck anyway, “make sure you don’t get too close to the edge.” 

“calm waters today,” nayeon muses. long, nimble fingers trace the islands mapped out on the almost comically yellowed parchment. “i’ll be fine.” 

jihyo shrugs, shielding her eyes, “i can stay out here with you if you like?” 

nayeon is going to say no, jihyo is sure, just like she says no to everything else she thinks might inconvenience jihyo. she wasn’t even sure why she bothered asking when she knew this. probably some sort of obligation she’s still trying to fulfil. jihyo is already turning around, heading back to her daily duties when nayeon speaks.

“i’d like that.” 

smiling, jihyo makes her way to beside nayeon. she lets her feet dangle off the side, too, and looks down into the waves lapping at the hull. she has about fifteen minutes before she gets burnt. “are you hungry?” 

nayeon doesn’t answer immediately, and jihyo realizes that she’s staring. at her. she’s still squinting, but she has a goofy look on her face that makes jihyo smile, too. 

“since when were you so pretty?” nayeon giggles, and jihyo blinks back at her before laughing. 

“was that what was on your mind?” 

“maybe,” nayeon smirks, “but really, you’re so pretty.” 

“thanks. i guess?” 

-

they’re at the wheel when jihyo looks across at nayeon, and  _ realizes _ . 

here’s how it goes down: nayeon’s hair is loose and whipping around behind her back. she’s in one of jihyo’s oversized shirts and a pair of shorts that leave her legs at the mercy of the sun. the wind rips through said shirt and shorts, flapping it around, the waves supplementing the wind with water that gets in their mouths and faces. it should be annoying. jihyo can barely see where they’re going, and she should want to grab the steering wheel from nayeon, command the sea to calm so she can guide them northwards. 

but it doesn’t matter. not now. she leans against the navigation panel instead, watches nayeon grip the steering wheel with a stupid grin on her face, blowing raspberries in the direction of the sea. jihyo hears a few playful curses calling out the ocean for being so violent, and she wonders where nayeon learned to speak like that. she’s been taking the sailor’s life too seriously, probably.

“watch your language,” jihyo tells nayeon, and the younger girl is shy before she bursts out laughing. she lets go of the wheel for the second to pull an impassioned jihyo close, small wrists tensing as she holds jihyo. she laughs again, high and happy, and jihyo sees no trace of the crying girl in her cabin from so long ago. this is where they can let go of who she was, and jihyo lets go. 

because dear lord. 

she’s beautiful.

-

jihyo sinks into her corner of the bed. nayeon likes her space, and jihyo had picked up on her claustrophobia soon enough, so she makes an effort not to box nayeon in. she sleeps in the corner, slipping onto the floor most nights because she can’t stay still when she sleeps. nayeon’s always thankful for the extra space, and appreciative of how thoughtful jihyo is. 

not tonight. 

“unnie,” nayeon says. 

jihyo is dozing off, weary from the rigour of the day, but she perks up anyway at the sound of nayeon’s voice. 

(nayeon didn’t sleep much at first, but as the days wore on her, she got more comfortable here, felt safer - or maybe she just got too tired to be scared any more. there’s something about the waves that comfort her, she’s told jihyo. even if she almost died in their grasp once.) 

“yes?” 

nayeon fidgets with her hands, digging her nails into her palms. “can you come sleep with me?” 

jihyo takes a moment to process it, but nayeon’s brows knit together worriedly, and she shakes her head, “it’s okay. i know that you might not want to. it’s fine. i don’t want to impose, i-” 

“nayeon?” jihyo cuts in. 

“unnie?” 

(jihyo never asked nayeon to speak to her formally, but the younger girl does, without question and without hesitation. she’s not even sure where nayeon figured out how old she was, or if she knows how old jihyo is. maybe she’s doing it out of habit.) 

she doesn’t reply, stretching as she moves up the bed. nayeon doesn’t shrink away, eyes eager and lips parted as jihyo gets closer to her. there’s a small, shy smile playing on her lips. she’s blushin, dusting over her cheeks like ruby gold. 

god, the things jihyo wants to do to her, with her, for her - she doesn’t want to think about it, because if she does, it might just consume her. 

“is it really okay with you?” 

nayeon nods, “yes. unnie, please?” 

there’s a chord in her voice that tugs at jihyo’s heart, and she has to physically hold herself back,  _ god,  _ what she wouldn’t give- 

“okay.” 

tonight, jihyo falls asleep with her front pressed to nayeon’s back, anchored for the first time in ages. 

-

“so.”

they’re lying on the deck, side by side, the floorboards comfortably warm for a night like this. (a little salty, but everything around here is a little salty, especially the people.) the waves are calm for once, and today’s trip had been surprisingly smooth, leaving them plenty of time with each other. nayeon spent half the day trying to cook some meat sauce she tasted at the last port and the other half cleaning up the mess. her nose crinkles when she’s annoyed. it’s cute. she got even more annoyed when she caught jihyo looking. that was cuter. 

not that jihyo was paying any attention to her. she was in the kitchen to get a rag. 

jihyo shifts, laying her head on her hand, propping it up. nayeon’s eyes are dreamy, glazed over. she’s not sure nayeon cares for an answer, but she gives her one anyway, “yeah?”

“what’s your story?”

“my story?” jihyo feels it bubbling up. that entire slew of words and emotions and anxiety that comes up every single time someone asks her about her past. which in itself is something that happens rarely, usually only coming from strangers jihyo will only know the names of for one night, so suffice to say, jihyo isn’t used to talking about it. 

she doesn’t want to. it’s just something they don’t talk about. she doesn’t ask why nayeon flinches away from sudden touch, and in return, nayeon doesn’t ask why jihyo lives like this. on a boat, in the middle of the ocean, alone and isolated from anyone who cares about her. doing whatever she likes, whenever she likes. not speaking for days when it suits her. as far as she’s concerned, she lives in a bubble that exists to comfort her.

jihyo just didn’t think she’d ever have to explain any of this. it’s not shameful. she loves living like this. it’s become who she is. 

so why is it so hard to look nayeon in the eye? 

“you’re fascinating,” nayeon murmurs, suddenly closer than jihyo could ever anticipate. her breath fans out against jihyo’s face, and she can only blink dumbly in response. “i want to know you.”

“there isn’t anything interesting about me.” 

“really?” nayeon’s fingers curl against her hip. 

jihyo wants to back down, shrink away from nayeon, but she knows nayeon would only take it as a victory, so she nods. “yeah.” 

“that’s funny. i think you’re wrong.”

“really?” 

“really.” nayeon smiles wryly. “i think there’s so much you’re hiding from me, jihyo.” 

“i’m not hiding,” jihyo says defensively, “i just don’t think there’s anything worth knowing. it’s not interesting.” 

“it is to me. you know my story, don’t you? i want to know yours.” 

jihyo shakes her head. “i don’t know… not now, nayeon.” 

nayeon doesn’t struggle. “okay.” 

-

the storm comes after a particularly calm stretch. 

jihyo hadn’t been paying attention to the warning signs, had been cocky, complacent, had believed that she could tame the waves. 

this is the price she pays for that arrogance. it’d happened in a split second, too - falling overboard and straight into the icy, choppy waters. she hadn’t had time to scream, but had  _ just  _ enough to register her limbs seizing. 

she’s going under. there’s water rushing into her nose and lungs and she can’t breathe. she surges up, aiming for the surface, but another wave buffets her and she lets go. she has to. her fingers burn with the memory of metal against them, the sturdy material of her ladder, and she wants to laugh. 

so this is how she goes. all of this - trying to be a better person, learning how to coexist with her demons - has been for nothing.

it’d be funnier if not for the fact that  _ nayeon _ ’s still on the ship. she’s asleep, tucked away in her section of the bed but probably splayed out into jihyo’s side, and she will wake up to jihyo gone. forever. 

it occurs to jihyo that nayeon’s first thought will be that jihyo left her. she is always so sensitive and frightened, has been that way since jihyo first found her, and it hurts jihyo, more than any water in her lungs could.

_ i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.  _

_ i love you.  _

water laps over her head, throwing her into another tailspin, and jihyo lets go. 

she can’t hold on, so why bother? 

“no!” 

bubbles, rushing at her face. she’s lost if they pop, another motionless body broken by the waves. she was foolish to ever believe that she could tame them, or at the very least, co-exist with them. this is her end. she can’t see. she can’t speak. she can’t breathe. 

and then she can, head bursting through the water. there are hands pulling her close, up again, and jihyo feels herself go limp. 

“no, no, please,” nayeon gasps, pulling jihyo’s body against her own, up her back, throwing jihyo’s arms around her own neck. she’s shivering, but she holds steadfast, pulls the two of them up the ladder as the ship turns and threatens to flip in on them. where she finds the strength from, jihyo doesn’t know. 

she just knows that she is so, so proud. 

-

consciousness. the oil lamp they got off the shores of el salvador flickering in the corner. she’s lying on the edge of her bed, the mattress soft under her back. she doesn’t remember the last time she slept on the bed. no. wrong. she has. recently. nayeon’s been pulling her onto the bed every single night. 

nayeon is always cold. every part of her is cold but her hands. those burn prints into jihyo’s skin with how tight nayeon holds her. nayeon. nayeon. 

she tilts her head back. her neck hurts like a bitch, and she’s cold, so uncomfortable where she is right now. every part of her body aches. 

nayeon has her back to her. jihyo hears the clink of a spoon against porcelain, the fizzing sound of chocolate powder dissolving into hot water, and closes her eyes again. 

-

“i could’ve died.” is what jihyo says when nayeon presses the hot chocolate into her hand. jihyo’s not really one for hot chocolate. she prefers coffee. but nayeon loves hot chocolate, and so for all intents and purposes, jihyo likes hot chocolate. 

nayeon’s eyes are glassy. “i know.” 

“it was cold.” 

“i know.”

“i’m sorry.” 

“i know.” 

-

nayeon is silent for the next few days, and so is jihyo. they keep their distance on deck, because neither of them can bear to face the other. jihyo tiptoes out of the galley when she walks in to nayeon frying sea bass. she’s not cursing at the stove like she usually does. 

she leaves half the fish for jihyo when she’s done. de-bones it for her, which isn’t fair, because that’s something  _ jihyo _ does for  _ her _ . nayeon is always so sensitive about bones in her food and  _ hates  _ it when she has to pick bones out of her fish. she insisted on sticking to a soup-only diet after the first time she bit into jihyo’s favourite variety of bony fish.

the shy, sensitive girl jihyo rescued all those nights ago has grown up, has changed, even if jihyo doesn’t want to admit it. she wants to know things. she’s jihyo’s equal. it’s hard to see it that way, but it’s true. 

nayeon does all the pre-voyage checks when they set sail in the mornings. pulls the anchor up as necessary, not bothering to enlist jihyo’s help. makes sure everything is where it should be. she does the one-man job jihyo designed for herself. it should be burden-relieving. it certainly doesn’t feel that way, though. 

funnily enough, they sleep in the same bed. it’s suffocating, especially since nayeon’s night terrors have come back, and she ends up sobbing and screaming into her pillow most nights, waking up sweaty and teary and messy. 

jihyo is still too afraid to touch her, and in that respect, she supposes she is the one who cannot change. 

because when it comes down to it? jihyo’s the one who ran away from home because she couldn’t handle the world changing without her. she’s the one who thinks she can rely on the ocean to be unchanging and constant. she’s the one who wants everything to stop so she may continue. 

nayeon is what she can’t face. nayeon is change, nayeon is difference, nayeon is moving on. that’s the real reason why she’d been so uncomfortable with nayeon onboard at first. 

maybe it’s time jihyo raised the anchor.

-

she has never missed the looks nayeon gives her when she thinks jihyo isn’t looking, or the name she calls out at night when she’s panicking and looking for someone to trust. she sees everything, the small smile nayeon gives when jihyo congratulates her on a job well done with navigation or the cooking, the shy blush when she clings to jihyo. she plays so coy, it’s almost fun to watch. 

except that it isn’t. because jihyo is one hundred percent sure that she isn’t worth the smiles, or the giggles or the blushes. she’s a monster, and that’s that. 

(she doesn’t ever want to talk about it, but she heard the things nayeon said when she first pulled her on deck, jihyo half-drowned and gasping for air and unconscious. doesn’t want to repeat them herself, but she does know that it had involved nayeon trembling and crying out pathetic  _ i love you _ s. 

she’s not worth it, not now, not ever.) 

-

“i’m sorry,” she says for the second time in a week. 

nayeon freezes. she’s pulling the anchor up, over the edge of the boat and onto deck to stow it away, and she tries to be indifferent, but jihyo knows better. nayeon’s never been too good at masking her reactions. her shoulders go stiff. 

“i really am.” she shakes her head, wanting to laugh. she doesn’t know if she forgives herself yet, but right now, nayeon’s more important. “i’m sorry i fell overboard.” 

nayeon bursts out laughing. “are you serious?” 

she turns around. faces jihyo properly for the first time in days, smiles that same goofy smile jihyo loves so much. 

“yeah,” jihyo shrugs, “i figured that was what made you so mad.” 

“ _ unnie _ ,” nayeon whines, stomping a little, and jihyo laughs. 

she comes a little closer, ruffles nayeon’s hair. nayeon squirms, but in a good way. “i’m kidding. i’m sorry for not being able to tell you the truth.” 

“no,” nayeon objects, “i shouldn’t have pressed you so hard for it. you’re entitled to your secrets. it’s just that…” she trails off, looks up at jihyo, eyes glistening. “i was just… so scared that i was going to lose you. i don’t want to lose you. not ever.” 

jihyo can’t help it, she really can’t. nayeon is just so easy to tease. “why? ‘cause you can’t navigate the ship on your own?” 

“shut up!” nayeon pouts, and jihyo laughs freely. “seriously, i… i just don’t want to, okay?” 

“you’re not going to lose me,” jihyo promises. if this were any other person, a promise this heavy would weigh on her conscience, give her sleepless nights, probably make her skip town. but it’s nayeon, and the difference this time is that she believes herself. she isn’t quite there yet, can’t quite forgive herself, but jihyo tells herself that this is the beginning. “no more secrets. i promise.” 

“no more secrets,” nayeon agrees happily, and that’s that.

jihyo smiles. squeezes nayeon’s hand. she figures that if nayeon can forgive her, so can she. she can try. 

it’s time to let go. 


End file.
